History Boys: A Little While Later
by redex
Summary: IrwinDakin.  Movieverse.  Smut.  All things come in time, including Poland.


He looks like an angel when he lowers his eyelids like that and smiles that small, private smile. It makes Dakin's blood boil to see that in front of anyone but himself, but just seeing it was enough to make him ache in an embarrassing way. His soft, kind, harsh, bitter professor, all dark chocolate and tea. _His_, because he could never have imagined Irwin outside of the world they had existed in back then. So afraid, so stuck, and only letting loose in the safety of the already-completed _passe_ .

The surprise on his face when Dakin stepped up in front of him said that he thought the exact same thing. The transition to the understanding that they were both _people_ was jarring and sudden.

"Hullo there," you say to him, and although you had been holding a few witty lines in your head since you came in, they all seem... Not up to snuff. Why bother when he sees through it anyways? He has seen you at your best, and you hope he remembers it still.

"Hullo," he says back, and the smile doesn't come back from the surprise, but a certain softness does. He remembers. He shifts his body just slightly towards you, as if his motion would turn off the rest of the world and isolate just you two, here and now.

As far as you are concerned, it does. You remember the poetry of Sappho and shudder a little inside. Aphrodite is a harsh, cruel goddess. The outside of you yearns for him and you think it must be obvious to everyone around you. Your lips are parted, you're breathing far too hard for just standing here, not talking to someone. You make a sudden prayer that he won't run, because you're not quite sure you can convince yourself to chase him again.

"Dakin," he says, softly, not a question and not an answer. You force yourself to return from your inner depths to focus on the here and now. And now he smiles, a shaky, uncertain thing, and you remember that _yes, he is a person too._

The public smoking laws are an excellent excuse for going outside. That way, when you push him into an alleyway he doesn't look so surprised, doesn't protest about people watching or anything or _anything_. You just make a harsh, useless sound in your throat, a summary of all the frustration you cannot, could not express, and lean in to _touch_ him. Hands in his hair, pushing it back, out of place, glasses askew, body _so_ hard and supple, chapped lips sending wildfire signals throughout your body and you almost crumble into a thousand pieces when your lips connect. His hands, his hands, they slide up your back, light and hesitant, but so like him. He might be back against the wall, but you are the one in danger of falling down.

"Just-Just," you gasp, frantic for him not to run away, angry with yourself for pushing forward so fast and angry at him for being so passive. He freezes your tirade with a touch, like the Snow Queen, finger on your lips, and you remember that he isn't always the passive one.

"You're not a student any more," he says as softly as ever, finger hooking over one arm of his glasses and your breath catches. They slide off his face and his eyes look sharper without them. He looks naked, glasses folded into his front pocket. Leaning in until you can feel his breath on your lips: "Thank you."

And this time he pushes you back against the other wall and one of his hands slides down below your waist and you writhe to have it in the right position, squeezing. You might come faster than you ever have before, but you cannot fool yourself that this is just another kiss and grope. He is taking you apart as easily as he took apart your essays, so vicious for someone seeming so calm. You love him for this dichotomy so very, very much.

And you realize that he wants it as much as you, and it makes your heart soar; you don't want to think about why. He is desperate when he kisses your neck and runs his hands down your chest. You realize what he is going to do only a moment before he flips open your belt and drops to his knees. Pushing the boat off, indeed. That cockiness of yours seems irretrievable now. It is a dirty alleyway and you regret what will happen to his pant's knees in order to keep from thinking about the fact that he is about to suck you off and love it.

So he does, sliding you a few times over his palm and then tongue, lips, light graze of teeth. To the point that you can feel him swallow, tongue sliding along the underside of your cock. He looks up at you, you with your shaking palm pressed against your mouth to keep from screaming out what he is doing to you, and a sharper, needier smile is in place now. His eyes ask you to watch him and you do, desperately clawing back from orgasm as he unbuttons his own pants, slides his fingers inside and draws out his own cock. You moan against your hand when you see it, and then again when you realize that he is getting off on giving you a blowjob, one hand moving himself and the other holding you in place as he swallows again and again.

You stop scrabbling at the wall behind you to clench your fingers in his hair, shaking as you thrust into his mouth, feel him give way, watch the pleasure move his body as he takes this rough treatment from you. He likes it like this, he likes_you_ like this. You come in his mouth and he sucks you desperately, his moan vibrating through your flesh, as he comes messily all over his own hand. He licks you clean, as careful as a cat, and then you drag him upright by the collar when you can't take it any more. You find a napkin in your pocket and give it to him, watching as he cleans off his hand. Confusion and afterglow make your head spin.

You feel unable to walk, unable to move, and perhaps he feels the same for a while because you just lean against each other, against the wall. Your breaths conflict with each other, pressing back and forth as your heartbeats slow.

Then he puts his glasses back on.

And you are terrified that he is stepping back from you again, to pretend that this never happened - but it did and he sees your fear. "Irwin!" you gasp, furious with yourself for getting in so deep if he is only going to walk away, and he turns back to you with that soft, secret grin that you love so much. His hands are in his pockets, but one reaches out to cup your face just for a moment, drawing you forward.

"Shall we continue our walk?" he asks pleasantly, voice just a little dark as he pulls out a pack of cigarettes, and you have to step fast to catch up with him when the shock wears off.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure," you reply, thinking _Poland_, and grin as though you won the world. He is smiling that smile just for you, and the boat is rushing downstream.


End file.
